weary travelers.

SUMMER FUN (what a blast)

Ochako is going to be gone for a week, and it makes Izuku sad. He doesn't say anything, though. She might feel guilty and that would stop her progress. He's sure that she's going to become a great hero. Then she's going to forget about him, but he doesn't want to think about any of that. 

(Bleeding hearts and all that.)

It might make the chest he's trapped everything in shatter around the edges―it might make him bleed blue from his eyes and cry red from his arms.

Izuku just smiles,  all chipped teeth and yellow-stained skin. Like dry rot.

She invites him to come with her and a couple of classmates. Shopping for the next few days, they both know that Tomura and Dabi are going to break in and steal their food, but it's a regular occurrence, so they don't really mind. They group up with Mina and then they're on their way.

Mina is rather nice. She's kind and exuberant and she usually doesn't blink twice at him in his gaunt, sickly skin. Usually.

"So, Midoriya?"

See, today is not a normal day. Fate has declared his times to be drowned in mossy ink and sun stained questions; has asked him to answer the impossible. To crack open his chest of secrets and memories he's hid. To uncover the black linned madness that dwells under his too human skin. Izuku hates the way it stretches, rough and leathery under white shirts and chipped tooth smiles.

Izuku doesn't breathe too loudly when he's out.

"Yes, uh, Ashido-san?"

"Why's your ear all warbled?"

His ears stopped working, he thinks. Ringing and ringing and his heartbeat started thumping louder than it should be. Kacchan is there, he's in Yuuei―and―pop, crackle, boom―everything aches and his shirt has melted to his skin. It burns and hurts and scars―Kacchan is supposed to be a hero. Kacchan is going to be a hero.

(How is Kacchan going to be a hero is all he does is hurt? It hurts―everything hurts and his ears just won't stop ringing. Everything is fading and he can't breathe because Kacchan is burning his throat and how's he going to explain it to Mom? She's going to be sad again and he really doesn't want to lie to Mom, not again. Not after the first and second and―he's lied so much already and―)

"This?"

He still can't breathe but if there's one thing he's perfected it's this speech. He doesn't need to see her face. A small smile warps over his lips. Steals away his face and brain and everything he's made from.

"It's―it's been like this for as long as I can re-remember. A birth defect―I think."

He's not going to hurt them.

Mom knows when he's lying, she knows how he practices his lines and says them over and over until they sound believable. But Ochako doesn't know and neither does Ashido, and he'll keep it that way. It would be selfish to burden them with his past. It's all fine now anyway, and even if it wasn't it [he] doesn't matter. He's Deku, after all, Deku's don't matter. 

"Oh, okay."

She still smiles, even if he must be unsightly. All torn skin and broken bones.

"It's super cool lookin, Midoriya!"

Izuku doesn't move. He can't speak for a second and his tongue is all the way in the back of his mouth. He can feel his face heating up.

"Th-thanks, Ashido-san!"

_

He dreams of hot hands and sparks on his skin; dreams of tasting death with quiet eyes and a feverish grin. Like some sort of devil he'd have cried over missing.

He wakes screaming.

_

"Can't you dance?"

Izuku looks at his shoes. At the crevices and cracks and the dust in between. He wonders if it's from the ash Tomura reeks of. He wonders if it's from the silver on the bar-top. The red looks like rusty nails.

"―ku?"

It's warm in here. Like springtime, even if it's summer. Mom usually comes home during summer, but she said she can't, so he doesn't know what to do. His chest is curling with smoke, it's warm and itchy. Like a rope around his throat. Izuku thinks about how expensive herses are―they can't afford one.

"―ey―"

The sun is golden through the water stained window. It's choppy and blocked off―like opening your eyes through a kaleidoscope of broken glass. Green bottles shattered on yellow concrete. When he was seven he tried to pick up the bits and his hands cried red. Izuku has never cried red before, he didn't know you could do that. He didn't think you could bleed that much. He'd never bled more than droplets. Kitten scratches, really. It's a little off putting, like his stare.

"Izu―"

A lot of people say his stare is creepy. That he digs into people and doesn't let go until he knows what makes up their bones.

"―uku―"

Izuku blinks away the dust from his eyes.

He looks up from his shoes.

"Yeah, Tomura?"

Tomura's eyes twist with something. Izuku doesn't know what to call it, but it looks familiar. Maybe he's seen it once, in a dream. Or a bitter memory.

"D'ya know how to dance?"

Izuku feels his mouth dry. "No. Not really."

"Want Natsuo to teach you, he's a master―"

"Oh my―no I'm not." Natsuo's face is completely red. Like a cherry blossom. Izuku scrunches his eyes and nose. The world warbles a little.

"Are too!"

"Are not―"

"Can you not," Dabi grousses. "m not in the mood for this shit―"

"What, you shit at dancing cremation?"

"I'm sick of your shit, weather boy, is what I am."

Tomura flicks away from them. "What do you think, Izuku? Is Dabi a dancing prodigy?"

Izuku gives a crooked grin. It's wrong on his face, it's hollowed out. The edges are tilted down. "Maybe. Uh―it's not impossible, because, uh, he's missing most of his memory."

"Wow, Izuku," Dabi drawls. "way to have confidence in my amazing dance skills."

"Wh-what can I say? I'm an optimist." Izuku blinks warily. "I only think the best."

"Sure, you little hellion." Dabi scoffs, not without fondness.

It's quite here, it's suffocating. It's warm.

"I miss Ochako." Natsuo finally says.

"Don't we all, weather boy." Tomura agrees.

_

Izuku is the only thing left from midwinter rations during a world war.

He goes to sleep screaming. He wakes up silent.

He's a ghost.